


Stitched Together Like This We Can Be Strong

by PennamePersona



Series: Clinic AU [10]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Close Sibling Relationships, Comfort, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Neglect, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennamePersona/pseuds/PennamePersona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One person, two people. For Rose Lalonde and Dave Strider, there is relatively little difference. </p><p>A tale of the life of twins who thread themselves back together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stitched Together Like This We Can Be Strong

**Author's Note:**

> And finally, here's the Rose & Dave fic I said I'd post eventually! This is Dave & Rose backstory, which is very important to me, and will possibly clear up some other stuff that's been mentioned in the verse. I may also reference some aspects of this fic in future fics! I love Clinic AU!Dave & Clinic AU!Rose so very, very much.
> 
> Also, I've got another fic written that I'll presumably be posting sooner or later!

The problem, at its core, is that neither Dave nor you are made for phone calls. 

 

 

The both of you are brilliant with words, you can stun people (shut them up) with a handful of them, but when it comes to the phone, it feels awkward and strange and wrong and uncomfortable and everything you pretty adamantly don't want talking to your brother to be.

 

You've been leaving notes for so long, now, that you have no idea who started it. And while they're nice (you don't have words for how they make you feel and you're actually sort of ashamed of that in a way that goes too deep for you to feel comfortable thinking about), they're infrequent. Visits are hardly often or short enough for you to be happy.

 

And letters are all nice and good, but they're so noticeable (or they were, until you started bribing the mailman), and still too infrequent. Not good enough, not when you need him and the quickest way is a phone call that _never feels right_.

 

You're so frustrated right now that you could scream, could cry, could sob, but you're already too aware of yourself and your surroundings for that to bring relief. You hate being nine, you decide. It's a stupid age. Dave doesn't seem to like it much, either.

 

(Isn't it odd how your thoughts match up)

 

You get off of your bed and, without bothering to turn any lights on, push your mattress up and feel around until your hand hits fabric. You grasp ahold of the material and pull it out. It feels thick, warm, and when you hold it to your face, it smells like him, still. Not as much as you'd like, but the cologne has definitely helped. One of his best ideas, really.

 

You pull on the hoodie, put the hood over your head, and slip your hands into the single pocket. You feel its contents instantly, which is strange. He doesn't usually leave you things like this. Normally, you stumble across whatever he's left you in increasingly odd places (you found a pair of hair clips inside your telescope, once), but this time, they're ready and waiting for you.

 

You pull out the prizes, which are a pair of earbuds and part of a torn off piece of notebook paper, which reads:

 

pesterchum

 

And nothing else.

 

Well, Dave is nothing if not pointlessly vague about potentially important topics, which definitely means that you should look this up.

 

You find what he must be talking about, which appears to be a downloadable chat client. You download it, and then are left with the problem of finding Dave. What would his username be? Nothing obvious, of course, but you doubt it'd be anything of significant sentiment. Not for this.

 

You flip over the small piece of paper, the back of which is unhelpfully blank. Oh, no. Not another one of Dave's idiotic scavenger hunts. Wherever has he hidden the next note? Who can know, unless they participate in this sure to be thrilling game.

 

You mean for your thoughts to be sarcastic and contemptuous, but you don't bother to fight the small smile on your face.

 

You end up finding the note (which says turntechGodhead) in your bathroom, tucked in a case of blush, so that the paper is slightly stained. You rarely use the makeup, which seems mostly pointless to you for now, but it only took you twenty minutes to check the blush. Dave is either getting rusty, or he wanted you to find this easily. You'd guess the latter is true.

 

You find Dave's username easily enough, now, and add him to your list of "chums." You'd be internally ridiculing this program if you weren't just as excited as you imagine Dave is.

 

You prepare to send Dave a message, but he's one step ahead of you. 

 

TG: of course youd pick that for your username 

TG: seriously rose what even

TG: how long did it take you to find the note by the way

 

You smile, despite yourself. You miss your brother.

 

* * *

 

 

You can't really say that you're entirely comfortable with these new people. You started this thing to talk to Rose, to be able to have contact with your twin sister for longer than a brief layover, or (rarest of all rare occasions) a visit in which one of you remains in your usual home.

 

Bad enough that your parents split you up. Bad enough that she's nearly 2,000 miles away from you. Bad enough that visiting her house makes you feel like choking, and the only okay thing is knowing that she was here, that she's here when you're not, that this is where Rose was, that these things are things Rose sees, these smells are smells Rose has become so accustomed to, she doesn't notice them anymore.

 

Did they really have to make it worse (the fact that they managed it impresses you a bit in a really sick way) by having the two of you visit your other parent _at the same time_?

 

While you visit with your alcoholic mother, she's spending some quality time (ha) with your...troubled? biological father.

 

He insists that you call him Bro. You're no Rose, but it seems pretty obvious to you that he is uncomfortable with being a father figure. (Naturally, Rose has made the same observation - you didn't mention that you'd already picked up on that.)

 

That aside: You'd give a lot for quality alone time with your sister. She's the only one who gets it. And you're the same for her, you know you are. There's so little in your life that you can really rely on - maybe Rose will always be the only one.

 

But now, there's these two new people who seem to feel that they have some sort of right to pester you (ha, you're totally telling Rose that one later, she'll love it) (by which you mean that she'll sigh heavily and roll her eyes) (good thing you're fluent in Rose or you'd be offended like 110% of the time).

 

You really aren't sure how to feel about these two. They're so different from anyone else that you've been close to, so oddly genuine, like they see no reason not to be. It's really throwing you off.

 

It's a comfort to know that Rose is on shaky ground with it, as well.

 

You sigh, go to your computer, and check Pesterchum. Two new messages, and neither are from Rose.

 

EB: hey dave, what's up? how're you doin?

 

GG: how are you, dave?

 

TG: not great

Backspace

TG: not gre 

Backspace

TG: not

Backspace

TG: alright

Backspace

TG: alr

Backspace

TG: fantastic as always

Send.

 

* * *

 

 

You need out. You don't just _want_ out (you've wanted out for years for as long as you can remember you've wanted it), you _need_ out.

 

And you know Dave does, too.

 

...

 

You stare at your laptop screen for a while longer. You're fifteen. Only fifteen. Fifteen is too long. Fifteen isn't long enough.

 

Dave is fifteen. Three years is a long time.

 

You click the button, grab your bag, walk out of your room, down the stairs, and out the front door.

 

Your mother does not notice.

 

You call your brother.

 

You get to the airport.

 

You board the plane.

 

You meet Dave at a layover.

 

You exchange shirts.

 

You arrive in Seattle, Washington.

 

You wait for the inevitable phone call.

 

You ignore the inevitable phone call's inevitability.

 

You put your arms around your brother for the first time in far too long.

 

You fall asleep in a hotel room, scared out of your wits, but feeling better than you have in years.

 

In the morning, the two of you contact John and Jade.

 

They demand that you stay with them.

 

You don't have the fight left to argue with them. Dave seems to consider the options before going. You wonder where he gets the strength.

 

Somehow, the legal concerns get sorted out. You hardly notice. You don't move from the room you've been given. You scream, sometimes, when the quiet suffocates you.

 

Dave brings in headphones and a music player. His headphones. His music player.

 

The world isn't quiet, anymore.

 

You sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

"She's not okay," Jade says, looking at you from across the table.

 

Well, thanks for that revelation, Harley. Never would have noticed if you hadn't said so. Not like your rooms are next to each other or anything, not like you haven't heard her screaming

 

(You wonder how she can make any sound at all doesn't the sound get her like it does you but no her house was quiet she hates the quiet you can't stand the music anymore no longer not when it hurt you like that not when you used it to drown out any other sound not now not ever no more)

 

You say nothing. You haven't said anything since arriving here. You appear to be doing better than Rose, at least outwardly. You leave your room. You eat. You take care of yourself. You nod, politely. 

 

(Appearances can be deceiving, Dave, Rose would say)

 

(But Rose won't say)

 

(Rose won't notice not while she's as stuck as you)

 

(no more rose means no more anyone but here they are those two what if)

 

(no more shut up shut up don't want to think about it don't want to get stuck)

 

"Neither are you, Dave. Don't think we haven't noticed."

 

It sounds like pleading when she says it.

 

You attend the therapy sessions and desperately, desperately, hope to get better.

 

* * *

 

 

You sit on the edge of the bed, not quite ready to stand up just yet. It's a bit of a big day for you. Today is an outing, not exactly formal, but not completely casual, either. You have the perfect outfit: a dress Jade helped you pick out months ago, orange, sunny colors, and very much not what you might have chosen on your own.

 

But today is a sundress kind of day, and today is somehow, amazingly, a day in which you think you can wear your own clothes.

 

You think you must be bothering Dave to the point of madness, always wearing his clothes, having him be the only one with the ability to properly comfort you, taking and hoarding anything of his to listen to music with.

 

But today, you'll be your own person. You can do this. You're ready. You are ready to present Rose Lalonde to the world (a.k.a. a local park).

 

Just as you're pulling the dress out of the closet (the blue shoes that Jane gifted to you are ready and waiting at the foot of the bed), you hear a knock and the door opens.

 

Dave, then. No one else will enter until you've given them permission.

 

"Hey, sis." He says, and when you turn to look, you see that he's holding up his formal-casual clothes (neatly pressed short-sleeved red button-up and khakis) and wearing a too big shirt and leggings that you left in his room one night when you couldn't stand it any more and needed something of his.

 

Oh.

 

You wordlessly take the clothes from him and hand him your dress.

 

"Thanks." He says, not quite able to meet your eyes, even from behind his shades. "The shoes are in my room."

 

"Need any help with pinning?" You ask, before walking out. He shakes his head.

 

"I've gotten good at it."

 

_Oh._

Not just you, then.

 

You go to Dave's room, put on his clothes, and slip on his shoes.

 

His room is neat as a pin. Yours is a mess.

 

Once, both of your rooms were awful messes.

 

Dave's room has been neat for the year that you've lived here.

 

The realizations are still hitting you.

 

You go back to your room, and see that Dave has managed to put on the dress quite neatly. Lucky that you're nearly identical twins, or your measurements would be all off.

 

"Here," You say, picking up a few safety pins off your desk and carefully, neatly pinning the straps of Dave's binder to the straps of the dress, so they don't slip. 

 

"Thanks." He says.

 

"I've gotten good at it." You reply. It's not a lie. You have. Probably every item of clothing you own has been worn by him at one point or another, and you do try your best to make sure he looks good in them and that he's comfortable.

 

You didn't quite realize how many times he did it himself.

 

You're glad to do it for him.

 

"Ready, brother?" You ask, holding out a hand. He smiles, vaguely, at one corner of his mouth.

 

"Ready."

 

You walk out, ready to be in the sunlight, and sure, now, that you and Dave can walk together through this.

 

* * *

 

 

"Give me _back_  my sweater, Dave, or I swear, I will - "

 

"Now, now, let's not be saying anything we regret."

 

"You've had it for years! It was a _gift_ , Dave, and I've never worn it!"

 

"It just fits me so well, I love it."

 

"I! Have! A! Date! Tonight!" Cue the sounds of a pillow hitting a body. "Give me the sweater!"

 

"Nooooooooooooo, I don't wanna."

 

"Give it to me!"

 

"Nooo, Rosie, let me keep it. I'll buy you a new one."

 

"It's _my_ sweater!"

 

"I appreciate it more than you do."

 

"Because you never gave it back after the first time you wore it!"

 

"Not my fault I look good in it."

 

"It's completely your fault! Everything is your fault!"

 

A pause.

 

"The date's gonna go fine, Rose. This girl is really into you."

 

"I...I know."

 

"And you've been doing great. You can do this, Rosie. You've opened up, she hasn't shut you down. She likes you a lot, and I know you like her. You've got this, sis."

 

"...thanks, Dave."

 

"You're welcome."

 

"Now give me the fucking sweater."

 

"Augh, _fine_. But you'd better return it in pristine condition."

 

"It's _my_ sweater!"

 

"Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and I've had it for years!"

 

"It is mine, and I'm keeping it!"

 

"What _ever_. Have fun on your dumb date, in _my_ sweater."

 

"Oh, I will, Dave Strider. I will."

 

"Ew, don't sound so gross about it. You're my sister. I don't care how cool Kanaya is, I do _not_ want to think of you guys having sex."

 

"Are you sure? I could go into more explicit detail for you."

 

"Get out. Get out of my apartment! Just. Shoo! Shoo! And don't stain the sweater!"

 

The sound of mutual laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic! As always, kudos and comments are very much appreciated. I was glad to hear people say they were interested in the Dave & Rose backstory in comments on the last fic! And a shout-out to Kaki_Idk for the assist in formatting! It was greatly appreciated.
> 
> And of course a shout-out to the one who is arguably just as unreasonably attached to this verse as I am (though I probably still win out). You're always appreciated, lovely~
> 
> Also:
> 
> You can reach me at pennamepersona.tumblr.com if you'd like to talk about this verse, other fics I've written, or my animosity towards the word inflammable, which I assure you is very, very real.
> 
> [Buy me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/A375K8Q)


End file.
